


Green Tea and Sparring

by Enchantable



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: F/M, Making Out, Sparring, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither can sleep, both try each other's insomnia cures</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Tea and Sparring

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: As an avid fan of pacific rim, i have to thank you for these ficlets. I think youve got the characters down pat. How about Raleigh and Mako sparring? There was so much tension in the film spar but now that theyve drifted, i think it would take it to a different level of 'conversation'

The drills have long since been ingrained in her muscles. 

Over, under, dip left, dip right, spin, strike, block low, block high—the staff flows through her fingers as she moves through the motions. Her feet are bare and silent as she steps along the mats, letting the wood flow where it will. As she steps it feels as though the mats have shifted. They’re cheaper, rougher. The smell of sweat and children is heavy in the air as a pot bellied man shouts butchered Japanese. With the next step the image is gone, replaced with the room she is in. 

She’s never set foot in that place. Her training, from the beginning, has been steeped in pure tradition. But Raleigh’s first step on a training floor took place in a cheap dojo with a man who only knew the basics. None of the artistry her first training master—a friend of her father’s—had. 

"Can’t sleep?" 

She doesn’t turn at the words. She did not hear him come in, but she is not surprised he’s awake. It isn’t just her memories that have her seeking solace in the training floor. Her remedy for not being able to sleep is a book and a cup of tea. His is the brutality, the exhausting. Therefore when she turns and sees him holding a cup, still warm enough to give off steam, she isn’t surprised. 

"Thought i might find you here," he says, setting the tea down and toe-ing off his shoes. He turns them from the mats with practiced precision she knows isn’t really his own.

"You can’t sleep either?" she replies, more for the sake of reply. 

"No," he says, walking over to the other end of the training mats and sliding a staff off the wall. He gives it an experimental pass with his hand, the wood whispering through the air, “careful—"

"Of your shoulder," she replies, dropping her own hand, “I will be."

The wood meets with a sharp sound, bouncing back before meeting again. She’s a little surprised to find they are both off balance, not purely because of injuries. She is surprised at how her body reacts as though she was stronger, as though her limbs were longer. And she knows it’s the memories of Raleigh adjusting to his body jumbling with her own. She compensates by letting her mind go blank, letting her muscles take over purely and manages to get two easy hits in before she steps back and lowers her staff. 

"You’re letting me win," she accuses. 

"You know I’m not," he replies, “I’m off my game."

"No," she says with a shake of her head, “it’s my memories. You are misjudging the distance. Fighting like your arms are shorter. Let your mind go blank."

He frowns and looks down at his staff. She brings her staff up again and he follows. The wood meets again, both dealing a series of rapid blows. She pushes him to the other side of the mats before he turns it around. There’s a quick move and her back hits the ground. He follows her, pressing the wood to her throat gently. Their eyes lock, his sweeping her face before meeting hers again.

"How did you know that?"

"Kadinovsky," she says, “I watched them fight after drifting."

He looks at her before nodding and getting to his feet. She flips up and faces him. Their staffs meet again and again until she slips under his defense and presses hers to his neck. Their eyes meet again and she feels her fingers tighten on the staff. This is not having the effect she’s after. Especially when they’re waiting so long between bouts. 

"You’re hesitating," she says and can’t quite keep the accusation out of her tone. 

"So are you," he replies, his eyes not leaving hers. 

She’s used to reigning in her emotion, to keeping the hurt and anger from taking over. But this feels as though she’s being wound tighter and tighter. It’s not exhausting. It’s thrilling. Mako know she’s had more than enough thrills in her life for the past few days. She doesn’t step back this time as she brings the staff around, keeping it close. Raleigh meets the blow easily, blocking it before reversing their positions so her back is to his chest, his staff pressed against her throat. 

He’s close enough for her to see the scars on his shoulder—not that you have to be close to see them. But he’s also close enough for her to feel his breath on the back of her neck. His staff lightly taps her collar bone and she realizes she’s lost in thought. Her reaction is instant as she grasps the staff and flips him over her shoulder, completely forgetting about his shoulder until he strikes the ground. 

"Raleigh!" she drops the staff and falls to her knee next to him, “I’m so sorry are you—"

"Mako it’s fine," he says immediately, “I landed on my other shoulder and—Mako?"

She’s on her feet almost instantly, feeling like she’s been burned. If she had injured him—the thought is sickening. He’s already going to need more surgery for his shoulder. She can’t cause him more pain. Before she can make it off the mat his hand is on her shoulder. She knows he won’t keep her there against her will, but she also knows he doesn’t want her to leave. 

"Mako it’s alright."

"It isn’t," she says turning around, his hand not leaving her shoulder, “you could have been hurt."

"That doesn’t matter," he says looking at her, “I’ve been hurt before."

She looks up at him. His hand is still on her shoulder. She can feel every callous against her skin. Her own is hot but his feels scorching. Somehow the air has become difficult to breath as she looks up at him. They are standing still but this feels like a different kind of sparring. There is an entire conversation going on, a dialogue that is being expressed with something that doesn’t involve anything as simple as words or movement. His elbow relaxes as she steps forward. 

"You’re hesitating," she says finally, her voice nothing more than a whisper. He nods, not saying anything as she takes another step forward, “don’t." 

Wordlessly he nods before his hand moves from her shoulder to the back of her neck and his lips finally find hers.


End file.
